Life is full of crazy moments, ups and downs and mixed up plans. My life changed in September 2008 when my fiancé was killed in Iraq. Nothing like what I planned, I continued forward. Support from friends and family, as well as my inner strength kept me moving. Now married and raising a pup, I am taking life one moment at a time, living in the present, and working to be happier every day.

Monday, November 9, 2009

re-posting this :)

From the AWP page on facebook. There are so many things I think about re-posting but this one I really enjoyed.

We want you to understand that. And if you can't understand it, please learn to accept it.

We want to win at the game of life.

We hated losing everything.

We want the pain to go away.

We don't want to kill ourselves. Though we may say, I wish I were dead.

We don't want pity.

Yours or anyone else's.

It causes us to feel pathetic. So, please don't preach if you decide to stop and chat.

And if you see us on line in the Dunkin'™ Donuts, please don't point at us to your friend when we pass.

We hate it when conversations turn to whispers when we step one high-heeled toe into the party.

We don't want that.

We want an ear; a shoulder. Someone to listen to our terrible horrible ugly day. Think King Kong with Faye Raye.

We don't want to hear, "If there is anything I can do, call."

Be specific.

We want, "Can I drop off a chicken and potato dinner Tuesday night at six?"

We don't want to tell anyone we are afraid, though we are scared to our core.

We are afraid to reach out, we are afraid to ask favors. We are afraid we can't pay back.

We want others to know that we are concerned about the future -- Ours.

We don't want to be alone.

We do want to be alone.

We don't want to answer the door, the telephone, or the sea of sympathy cards mountain-piled on the kitchen table. They act as reminders of death. Even emails can be overwhelming to us. When someone is dead, they do not return. It takes time to process that.

We want space.

We know you are there for us.

We don't want space.

We don't know you are there for us.

We will reach out when we are able.

We want others to do the same.

We want others to know we know you care. Be patient.

We want others to know, we don't know you care. Be persistent.

We want to measure time the way we once did.

Not BD (Before His Death), or AD (After His Death).

We want others to know that for widows, time has changed.

And we must process that.

We don't want to hear, "I know how you feel."

You don't. We pray you never will.

We don't want to hear, "I know what you need.

Even if you are an authority, it's not up to you.

We don't want to hear, "You'll be okay."

Especially when we feel nothing will ever ever be okay, ever again.

We don't want to be judged for something we did, something we said; something we didn't do, something we didn't say.

We are human beings and now we are alone and we are vulnerable.

Under the circumstances, we want others to know we are doing the best we can.

We don't want to hear (not at this time, anyway) about a visit to a hospital to visit a best friend's cousin's dying milkman.

Please spare us the details.

We want to know that someone in the world is mending, healing, getting better, and soon, very very soon, will be leaving the hospital on his own two feet.

We don't want to know about a stranger's funeral.

Chances are, we already know. We just don't care. At this time.

We want never to forget Him.

He was everything. He loved us back.

We want to cherish His memory.

Please don't feel uncomfortable if we mention His name.

We want others to know, though life has kicked us where it hurts, we still find joy.

1 comment:

thank you for posting this Stace. Its good to read and see things from your point of view. I wonder how you're feeling and what you're thinking and how I can best "be there" for you and this helps! I do want to say that I care about you so much and you are never far away from my heart. I imagine great things to come for you. You deserve great things. Love you.